To Live In Hearts We Leave Behind

by yassandra

Merlin has lived far too long and seen far too many things, and along the way he's grown tired and lonely and forgotten what it's like to have a friend. The day he meets a young man on the beach all that changes - at least for a time.

A/N Well I'm here again! It's time for the April Amnesty Challenge for Hurt Comfort Bingo and like last years April Challenge is a crossover fic. Now I have to admit that I don't find crossovers the easiest thing in the world to do (I suppose it would help if I actually watched television or films for a start).

For this challenge I've written a companion piece to last year's Fugue but this time from Merlin's point of view rather than Jason's.

The prompt was 'scars'.

I hope it works and I hope you all enjoy :-)

---

"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."

(Rose Kennedy)

"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."

(Thomas Campbell)

---

He's been alive too long. That's the long and the short of it. Has travelled too far and seen too many things; seen too many good men die for no reason (or at least not for any reasonable reason that his mind can fathom); seen too much destruction in the end; too many countries rise and fall; and he's so damned tired of it all. Tired of all the waiting; waiting for the other half of him to reappear; waiting for humanity to change and actually get a clue (not that he really expects that they will after all these years); waiting for the scars on his heart to actually heal.

It would help, he supposes, if he had some idea of how long this wait for the prat was supposed to be – so that he might judge how long he has left to go on alone. Then again, perhaps it wouldn't help at all. Somewhere along the way he's forgotten just how many years have passed between then and now, so knowing how long he is supposed to be alone would be a bit futile.

The process of forgetting had happened gradually. So gradually he hadn't even noticed it until the day when someone had asked how old he was and he had hesitated – not because he couldn't remember how old he was pretending to be this time around but because he couldn't remember how old he actually was (How long ago had that been now? Two hundred years? Three hundred? Does it even matter anymore?). Afterwards he had stumbled home to his rooms almost blindly; mind trying frantically to remember small details that had suddenly seemed to elude him.

It had been a shock to realise that he no longer remembered the date of his own birthday; the sound of Gwaine's laughter; the scent of Gwen's perfume (was it sweet or floral?); the exact shade of his mother's eyes. That last one had hurt most of all.

It had worried him too – because if he couldn't remember details about the people he'd most loved in his life, then what else was he forgetting? Would he wake one morning and no longer remember what Arthur looked like? Gradually though, he had realised that Arthur wasn't fading and in the long years that have followed he has come to realise that no matter what else he loses Arthur never fades from his mind and memory; he is always there, shining brightly; as glorious and annoying as the last time Merlin saw him; the one fixed point in an ever changing world; and he's still a prat and a clotpole and everything else Merlin ever thought he was.

He's still young in Merlin's memories (you're being stupid. You know he never had the chance to get old). Sometimes Merlin wonders whether Arthur would even recognise him now. No matter the age of the face he wears, be it young or old or somewhere in between, he's an old man now; is cynical and jaded and oh so very tired. The centuries of waiting for Arthur's return have taken their toll on him. The last remnants of the innocent, fun-loving boy who had entered Camelot's gates for the first time so many centuries ago have been burned away in the fires of time.

It's a dark day today. A day when he feels nothing but despair for the fate of mankind (for his own fate). On that last day – that last fateful day – Kilgarrah had told him that Arthur would come again when Albion needed him the most. How many times over the centuries has he believed that surely, surely the time must be now? That if ever there was a time when Arthur was needed it was right at that moment? He lists the important ones in his head morbidly (the Spanish Armada, the Civil War, the rise of Napoleon, the First and Second World Wars – and those last two stick in his throat most of all because if ever there had been a moment for Arthur to come back it had been then). Yet Arthur has still not returned and on his darkest days Merlin doubts that he ever will.

He's wearing his old man face today – the face of Emrys even if there's no one who would know it as that (and who does he think he's kidding saying that he's wearing it today as though it's an unusual occurrence? He's been wearing it for the last three decades at least, never staying in one place for long enough for people to start wondering why the old man isn't dead yet) – tramping along the roads near Glastonbury like some aging vagrant hippie. It's a disguise that's suited him well enough on and off since the 80s when the number of 'new age' shops in Glastonbury suddenly increased and it became acceptable to choose to live an 'alternative' lifestyle (not that he has anything against that of course – he's seen too many things in his long life to discount anyone's beliefs).

He never strays that far from Glastonbury these days to be honest. There was a time (when he was much younger and curious about the world) when he travelled; there had been decades when the world had seemed relatively peaceful. There were always wars of course; always turmoil – but Albion had not seemed particularly threatened at the time and Arthur had therefore seemed unlikely to return imminently (and that's an understatement if ever there was one!). So he had taken the opportunity to travel; to learn. Where he'd become a scholar out of necessity in the days of Camelot (had spent hours poring over that old spell book Gaius had given him), in his wandering years it had been for pleasure; there was a thrill at first to learning the language of the land he was visiting and to immerse himself in the culture; to studying the latest scientific discoveries. As literature had become more readily available he had devoured it (and used it too if he is honest – planting a story here; telling a tale there; all in the name of making sure that Arthur has never truly been forgotten). He knows now that it was all a distraction; a way to take his mind off the fact that he hadn't grown old and died as a normal person did (as he had watched those around him do time and time again); to relieve the boredom of waiting.

Eventually though Merlin's wanderlust had inevitably burned out (he had travelled the world many times over so really what was the point of travelling anymore?) and Glastonbury – Avalon – had called its siren song to him once more. Over the past few years he had found himself growing increasingly nervous at the thought of travelling too far from the Tor; spent years worrying that if he travelled too far Arthur might wake up without him. Merlin knows it's illogical and irrational but he can't help the fear that clutches at him (and sometimes he worries that he's not quite mentally stable anymore; that the centuries alone have affected him). So he's stayed nearby for a long time now (must be forty years at least – although he somehow can't quite seem to remember exactly; he's noticed lately that he's becoming ever more forgetful as though his mind is going to sleep), waiting; watching; hoping – but Arthur never arrives.

He wanders into a book shop in the high street – more for something to do than out of any real desire to purchase any of the books; although he does have a quick look over the books on the Arthurian legends out of habit and has a laugh to himself about some of the theories that the writers have come up with (they never get close to the true Arthur – but then how could they?). Of course he's to blame for a lot of it himself; carefully manipulated the legends back in the early days to make sure that, while Arthur and his knights were never truly forgotten, no-one got too close to the truth either – no-one ever learned that he himself was still around; romanticised the stories to make sure that they caught people's imaginations. Chretien de Troyes was a nice man, Merlin remembers – although a little too keen on flights of fancy, with a decidedly overactive imagination. Thomas Malory, on the other hand, had been a thief and blackmailer – a real thug – imprisoned on more than one occasion on suspicion of horse theft, house breaking and various other crimes. Still he had been well educated and had written well – and his words have stood the test of time; Le Morte d'Arthur has inspired the writings of so many others throughout the centuries – even if the history of the man who wrote it down is largely forgotten. Arthur is remembered because of it and that's what's important – even if it is in a twisted form.

It makes him a little sad actually when he thinks about how twisted some of the stories and characters have become and he finds himself apologising to his friends in his head for the injustices done to their memories in the name of keeping Arthur's story alive. Gwen (sweet, gentle Gwen who gave him a flower on his first day in Camelot) has become the ultimate unfaithful wife; Lancelot (he misses noble Lancelot more than he likes to think about; misses the shared laughter and the unswerving loyalty), though brave, has become a cheat – an over-sexed adulterer who forgets duty in favour of pleasure; even Arthur himself is changed from the prat that Merlin knew into an older man – much older than his beautiful young wife and ultimately incapable of keeping her love. It's all so very wrong and yet it has to be this way.

"Can I get you anything?"

The woman behind the counter is eyeing him a little suspiciously and Merlin supposes that he can't really blame her – he does look like little more than a vagrant after all.

"No," he wheezes; his voice as cracked and old as he feels today. "I'm just browsing. Thank you."

He moves on to the next section without really looking.

"We have an interesting new book on ley lines if you're interested," the shop assistant says.

Merlin isn't. He can feel the power and magic thrumming through the earth without needing a book to help him. He still smiles politely at the woman though.

"Or perhaps you're more interested in history?" the woman goes on. "There's a good book on the history of the abbey."

Merlin smiles again (he was there when the abbey was built; saw it springing up – built over centuries – and saw it destroyed). The shop assistant is trying too hard but Merlin supposes that times are hard for an independent bookshop in a small town – especially a town where there are other bookshops to compete with. In an effort to be friendly and helpful (and it's sad that these days it takes effort to be friendly and helpful – once it came as naturally to him as breathing) he picks up the nearest small book (hopefully not too expensive – although money has never really been that much of a problem) and takes it to the till. He glances down at the title and nearly winces; why, of all things, did he have to pick up a book on the role of magic and the supernatural in the Arthurian legends and what they symbolically stood for?

The assistant rings the book through the till before Merlin can change his mind and takes his hastily proffered money. As she goes to return his change she pauses and peers closely at him. Merlin is instantly uncomfortable; instantly on guard.

"I'm sorry," the woman says flushing slightly, her hand still holding his change – lingering. "You look exactly like someone I used to know. Have you ever lived in Somerton?"

"No," Merlin rasps out, mind racing. He had lived in Somerton once upon a time (can't quite remember when though) and all his senses are telling him he must be careful now.

"Sorry," the woman repeats. "It's just that when I was a little girl we lived in Somerton and there was… well I suppose it was an antiques shop. It always looked like Aladdin's Cave to me. You look just like the old man who ran it. I know it's not possible of course… It was nearly forty years ago after all… He must be long dead by now." She hesitates for a moment. "You weren't related to him by any chance?"

"No," Merlin answers shortly, not wanting to continue the conversation (he remembers the shop in Somerton now – should have remembered all along really, but he's lived in so many places and for so many years that some of the less important lives have blurred in his memory). "I'm not from around here."

It isn't a lie either; Ealdor may be lost in the mists of time (and it hurts to realise that even he can't quite remember exactly where it was or when it finally vanished from the face of the earth) but he is certain that it wasn't close near here.

"It's uncanny," the woman says. "I think you even sound like him… and you could be his twin in looks… or at least as far as I remember."

"They say everyone has a double," Merlin mutters.

He prepares himself to suggest that perhaps her memory of the man she is recalling is a little off; that perhaps he merely bears a strong resemblance to the old man of her childhood. It will be one more lie in a lifetime that has been made up of lies and it tears at his scarred heart – his soul – a little more.

He leaves the shop with his unwanted purchase; his soul a little heavier than when he had gone in. It had been a dark day from the time he had got up this morning, now it is positively black. And he knows now that he has lingered too long near Glastonbury. He slips behind a building and mutters a few words, eyes glowing gold, and feels his face changing, his hair growing short and black once more and his back straightening as age drops away from him. He pulls off his jacket, intending to leave it at the nearest convenient charity shop – or in a bin if the charity shop doesn't want it… it has seen better days after all. The shirt and trousers he can just about get away with but his old man's jacket would just look too incongruous on a young man and Merlin wants to blend in and not stand out.

Catching sight of himself in a shop window is a shock (it's always been a shock to change from old to young or vice versa if he's gone about in one form or the other for a number of years). Still, he must do this. He has lingered for too long; become too complacent. The time has come to move on again.

---

It's a Thursday when Merlin finds his world tilting on its axis; a change blowing through his life like a breath of fresh air. It's intriguing but he isn't sure that it's entirely welcome – at least not at first.

This particular Thursday starts much like any other Thursday (any other day if he's completely honest – one day tends to blend into another most of the time). He's been settled in a reasonably sized market town for several months now – still in the West Country (he still can't bear to go that far from Avalon just in case) but Dorset rather than Somerset itself. He owns and runs a small but successful antiques shop (the centuries he has lived makes it easy enough for him to spot the genuine article over a fake), which seems to be something he defaults to without even thinking about it whenever he needs to find a new career for a time. He's settled into his early middle aged self too (people ask less questions than they would if he was his younger self; over the years he's learned that people get suspicious of a young man with too much experience or success) – it's not really his favourite age to be but it will do for now.

So he gets out of bed (lives in a flat above his shop), has a quick cup of coffee (and sends up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever brought it to England in the first place – he has a feeling it was the East India Company but isn't quite sure), throws the first clean clothes he finds on and wanders downstairs to start the day. By the time he's unlocked the shutters and got the float for the till out of the safe, Gaynor, his shop assistant, has arrived and hung her coat up. Gaynor is a sweet older lady with a wealth of experience and a hint of mischief in her eyes, who apparently retired about five years ago, got bored at home and came looking for a job when he first opened the shop six months ago – Merlin is convinced that she could probably run the place better than he does if push came to shove. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Going for the casual look today?" she asks with an amused smile.

Merlin looks down at himself and resists the urge to swear. In his half-awake stupor (the coffee clearly hadn't kicked in yet) the clothes he had grabbed have amounted to jeans and a t-shirt – clothes that are not suitable for work at all.

"I… erm," he stammers, trying to come up with a sensible reason for his current mode of dress.

"Not awake yet then love?" Gaynor asks with a laugh (she calls everyone 'love'; her voice lilting with her soft Welsh accent).

If Merlin were still the person he used to be when he was young (so many years ago now – how have the centuries managed to both fly by and drag on forever?) he would respond to Gaynor's gentle teasing with a witty remark. But centuries alone have left him more cynical and most definitely out of practice; light conversation no longer as easy as it once was. So instead he flushes and grows cross – he's cross at himself and not at this sweet lady but it makes no difference to how he reacts. He stomps upstairs in a mood and comes back down wearing something that is more or less suitable.

By lunchtime his mood is still dark and he knows he's lost a couple of sales because of it – which makes him more frustrated than ever. Gaynor has finally had enough and sends him off for the afternoon (and it probably says something about both of them that he lets her do it even though he is technically her boss) telling him to go and get some fresh air and try to relax a bit (although it's clear from her tone of voice that she doesn't hold out much hope for that one – she's worried about him from the first day she started work in the shop; thinks he's far too stressed). Merlin trudges back upstairs and puts his jeans back on almost defiantly, grabs his jacket and slips out through the back door. It isn't worth arguing with Gaynor after all – she's a treasure really; too good in the shop for him to want to risk her leaving.

Surprisingly, his elderly metro starts on the first attempt without him even having to resort to his magic to make the damned thing go (even after all these centuries old habits die hard and he tends to avoid doing incidental magic unless it's absolutely necessary). He could afford a better and newer car of course but this old beast is as stubborn as he is and somehow it suits him. There aren't all that many of them left on the road now and he sort of likes the fact that he's driving around in something that most people would regard as obsolete (like him and his magic, he sometimes thinks in his darker moments – the world really has no room left for magic and wonder); it appeals to his more eccentric side.

By the time he's been driving for half an hour or so, he's feeling much brighter – the cobwebs seem to have blown away – and he makes the mental note to thank Gaynor when he gets back – or perhaps in the morning if he gets back too late tonight. On a whim he pulls over to the side of the road and changes into his younger self (he hasn't really felt young in centuries but sometimes it's nice to remind himself of the person he used to be; the person he will have to be again when Arthur finally returns). He doesn't have a specific destination in mind and just drives aimlessly until he pretty much runs out of road.

The beach he ends up at is deserted, although he supposes that's only to be expected on a weekday in winter. It's blustery outside the car and the clouds look more than a little ominous but Merlin still pulls his jacket a little more closely around himself and makes his way along the shingle to a patch that looks strangely inviting and sits himself down. It's on days like this, when he's alone and quiet, that the ghosts of the past come back most strongly. Camelot shines in his memory (as it always did); the well-loved and cherished faces of his closest friends coming back with surprising clarity, even if he can no longer remember every precise detail about their personalities or quirks. There have been other friends over the years since – other loved ones – but no-one that he was so close to as the friends he made at the beginning of his life; no-one that he allowed to become that close. He sighs. It has been many years now (possibly even centuries) since he really allowed himself to become friends with anyone. One of the drawbacks of eternal life was having to watch those around you inevitably growing old and dying, and Merlin has seen it far too many times; has been hurt too often and isn't willing to be hurt again. It is simply easier not to have friends in his situation.

For a while he watches the swell of the heavy sea broodingly, thoughts growing ever darker. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a figure approaching. The figure is young (perhaps the same sort of age that he himself appears to be at the moment) and male. The other young man keeps well away though and sits himself down further along the beach, drawing his knees up and hooking his arms around them, staring out at the ocean bleakly. Merlin is all set to let the stranger be (has no wish to involve himself in another person's problems) when he glances at him one more time and gets the sort of shock he hasn't had in centuries, because for just a moment the stranger almost appears to glow with a golden light.

Merlin knows that the young man doesn't really glow of course but the feel of the magic that courses through the stranger almost takes his breath away. It's all around them both; the warlock can almost taste it in the air. How long has it been since he came across someone with such sheer raw power? But it's an old power; old magic; older than Merlin himself, he suspects. It comes from a different time; a different world. Does that mean the boy comes from a different time? Merlin finds that he needs to know; needs to know who this young man is and where he comes from; needs to know if they are alike.

He stands and begins to walk along the beach. The young man is still staring out to sea, apparently lost in his own head and pretty much oblivious to Merlin's approach. Up close he is as young as Merlin suspected (or at least appears that way). He has thick dark curls that catch and blow in the breeze and is far too thin and pale to be truly healthy, his clothes are hanging off his frame as though he has lost a fair bit of weight and his eyes seem slightly sunken; dark pits that look about as bleak as Merlin himself has been feeling.

The closer Merlin gets to the young man the greater the feeling of magic becomes, almost overwhelming the warlock. Yet it does not feel like his own magic; feels almost dormant – as though it is asleep; waiting for something. The young stranger is clearly some kind of magical being yet it feels as though he cannot consciously use the power that flows through him; as though it belongs to another lifetime. And there it is again – the feeling that this power he senses is not of this time; that the young man is not of this time. Merlin is intrigued.

"Hello," he says brightly (and is surprised at how animated he sounds; how like the Merlin of old).

The young man doesn't even bother grunting a response, although Merlin is absolutely sure he heard. He carries on staring out at the horizon, clearly not desiring company, his whole posture screaming 'let me be'. Merlin doesn't leave him alone though – the young man presents the sort of puzzle that is just too attractive to him. It's like an internal itch that he just has to scratch; he has to know what this young man is – what the magic that surround him is. So he sits down alongside the stranger and mirrors his posture, gazing out to sea apparently lost in thought although his mind is actually racing.

Gradually he becomes aware that the young man keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eye; stealing sidelong peeks whenever he thinks that Merlin isn't looking. It's actually kind of funny and Merlin can't keep the amusement out of his voice when he speaks again.

"You know if you're intending to ignore someone you really shouldn't keep looking at them," he says and turns towards his companion with a smile.

The other young man looks at him properly then and Merlin feels the magic in the air surge around him, his own magic rising in response. The young man stares at him for a moment, then pales rapidly, his face going an alarming shade of grey and he sways where he sits. Merlin is instantly worried (there is enough of the gentle boy he was originally in him to be concerned at his companion's reaction) and he reaches out and grabs the boy's shoulder, trying to steady him and keep him from face-planting on the shingle (which would definitely be painful).

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern colouring his tone. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah," the young man answers vaguely, still sounding as though he might faint. "No… I don't know… for a moment I thought… it's nothing." He swallows hard and looks down at the ground for a long moment. When he looks up again his eyes have become hostile; the wounds and scars that he is surely too young to possess lurking just beneath the surface (it makes Merlin a little sad to see it; it is a look that he is all too familiar with; has seen too many times in the mirror). "What do you want?" the young man demands frostily, although an almost apologetic expression flickers across his eyes as he speaks – as though he doesn't really mean to sound as angry as he does.

Merlin smiles his brightest and most innocuous smile.

"Well you know what they say about misery loving company," he begins.

"No," the young man answers flatly, cutting him off.

For a second Merlin is nonplussed; it is such a flat out denial that he doesn't quite know how to respond. He thinks he got the saying right; has tried to keep up with modern speech patterns as much as possible so that he can at least give the illusion of fitting in with the world around him. The young man's response has him questioning himself for a moment but he ploughs on regardless.

"You looked about the most miserable thing around so I thought that I could join you and together we might be a bit less miserable."

"I'm not miserable," his companion protests.

Merlin nearly snorts; reigns it in at the last moment but can't stop himself from raising an eyebrow à la Gaius (how long has it been since he thought about the old man and his 'eyebrow of doom'?).

"You could have fooled me," he says with a bubble of laughter. "I've seen happier corpses. I'm Merlin by the way."

He braces himself for the reaction; has heard it all before – all the jokes and the snide comments about his name and sometimes wonders idly just what would happen if he told someone that yes, he really is that Merlin; somehow he suspects that it would be a one-way ticket to the funny farm. It's actually been years since he used his own name because of the reactions he gets and isn't quite sure why he does it now. The young man doesn't respond in the slightest though; doesn't react as though he's ever heard the name Merlin before. Merlin is bemused. He can't remember the last time he met someone who hasn't even heard of his name.

"Jason," his companion mutters in return. "At least that's what I'm told."

Merlin cocks an eyebrow curiously. Surely the young man must know his own name?

"You don't know?" he asks.

"I had an accident and I don't remember anything from before it," Jason admits. "I'm not always that good at remembering things that have happened since either."

Suddenly Jason's lack of reaction to Merlin's name becomes clear. Merlin feels a surge of pity (amnesia can't be easy to deal with after all) but manages to keep it from his face. Somehow he senses that the last thing this young man would want is his sympathy; he's probably had enough of that to last a lifetime. Jason looks away for a moment. When he turns back he looks at Merlin with a challenge in his eyes, as though he is daring the warlock to feel sorry for him. Merlin finds it almost amusing. He is as curious as ever about this young man and allows both emotions to show. The look of bemusement in his companion's eyes at his expression is almost priceless.

"What sort of accident?" Merlin asks.

"I don't know," Jason mutters. "No-one wants to tell me. No-one wants to talk about it. I think they think it will upset me and heaven forbid they should do that."

He sounds bitter; more bitter than he should, Merlin thinks. It doesn't suit him. He seems about to descend into a mire of self-pity and Merlin isn't about to let that happen – not while he still has so many questions about Jason that need answering anyway.

"Are you always this self-pitying?" he asks with a laugh. "Just so I know what to be prepared for."

Jason looks too surprised to say anything. He blinks at Merlin with wide eyes. When he does open his mouth what comes out is an incredulous snort of laughter, loud and unexpected. Merlin starts to grin as his companion dissolves into helpless laughter, shoulders heaving and tears running down his face. He doesn't really think he said anything that funny but Jason clearly can't help himself and Merlin ends up laughing right along with him – that chuckle is definitely infectious. He wonders when the last time he actually laughed like this was and is a bit shocked to realise he can't actually remember. He draws a bit closer to Jason and eventually their laughter dies away, leaving them sitting there grinning at one another like idiots.

After a while Merlin rouses himself – if he wants to investigate the phenomena of the magic he can feel flowing from his companion he had better make a start. He looks at Jason speculatively.

"Do you believe in magic?" he asks intently, studying Jason's expression.

Jason frowns as he thinks about it (and surely that says something in itself; if he truly believed in magic he wouldn't need to think about it).

"I don't really know," he admits. "I might have once I suppose."

Merlin can feel his smile becoming bitter. He shouldn't be surprised, he tells himself. After all magic is not something that this current technology obsessed world has much time for.

"You probably didn't," he says. "So few people do these days." He gives Jason a searching look. "What about now? Do you believe in magic now?"

"I don't know," Jason answers. "Why do you ask?"

Merlin sighs.

"It's not important," he says, mood suddenly darkening.

Jason bites his lip and looks away, clearly worried that he has said something to upset Merlin.

Merlin feels a little guilty about that and tries to lighten the mood again with an amusing comment. Jason retorts in the same way and before either of them know it they're bantering back and forth; bouncing witty comments off one another and laughing together like old friends even though they've only just met. It turns out that Jason has a wicked and mischievous sense of humour; a naughty light that dances in his eyes. Merlin unexpectedly finds himself enjoying himself; feeling lighter and more carefree than he has in years. As the afternoon fades into early evening and the shadows begin to lengthen around them they chat back and forth, sharing a little of themselves with one another. Jason laughs at his own expense, making wry comments about having the memory of a goldfish, even though Merlin knows that the subject must be painful – can see the hurt lurking not far beneath the surface.

Eventually he looks up at the darkening day and sighs.

"It's getting late," he says, glancing at the sky. "You should probably be getting back. Whoever you were trying to escape is probably worried about you."

Jason frowns.

"What makes you think I was trying to escape?" he asks a little defensively.

Merlin snorts.

"Please," he retorts sarcastically. "You were sitting on your own on the middle of a deserted beach in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday in winter. Your body language was screaming 'leave me alone' and you told me there were people around you who were afraid of upsetting you. You were running away… even if it was just for a little while. Now it's time to go back."

Jason sighs and pushes himself to his feet but hesitates for a moment before leaving.

"Will I see you again?" he asks.

It's pretty clear to Merlin after the conversation that they have just had that Jason is horribly lonely (probably doesn't have anyone to talk to who will treat him as a normal person). There are a whole host of reasons why Merlin shouldn't see him again – not least of which is that he has sworn to himself that he will never let anyone get too close again; needs to protect his battered heart as much as he can. But there is still the mystery that surrounds the magic he can feel that he needs to answer and Jason is looking at him so hopefully that he finds himself giving way. He gives Jason a funny little smile.

"Oh I should think so," he says.

He watches the young man walk away down the beach, his step lighter than it had been when he arrived, and smiles to himself. This is a bad idea and he knows it; forming any sort of connection with another person will only cause him pain in the long run. But right now Merlin finds that he couldn't care less. With a smile on his lips and a spring in his step that hasn't been there for years, he makes his way back to his car and heads for home.

---

By the time he gets back to the flat above the shop Merlin's mood might best be described as pensive. It's well after dark by now, especially since he stopped on the way home to pick up a cheap bottle of wine from Tesco and a takeaway (one of the things he does enjoy about the modern world is the sheer variety of food he can get – so very different from Gaius' watery stews in the old days) because he really can't be bothered to cook tonight.

There's nothing that he really wants to watch on the telly tonight (it is a wonder of the modern world that he has a love/hate relationship with to be honest – thousands of years of human ingenuity and the best they can come up with is 'Keeping Up with the Kardashians'? Really?) so he settles down with a book that he must have read a dozen times before but still enjoys, a glass of wine at his elbow and his feet up on a stool. Arthur would probably tell him off for being lazy and find something menial (and quite probably disgusting) for him to do if he could see him now, Merlin thinks wryly. He misses the people from the old days (misses Arthur most of all – even after all these years it still feels like half his soul is missing), but mucking out the stables or cleaning Arthur's boots? Not so much.

The thought brings his friends back into his mind (not that they're ever all that far from it to be honest, especially lately) and he raises his glass to them in silent salute. He's lonely – he knows that (has known it for countless years) – and meeting that Jason this afternoon, seeing how lonely the young man was himself, has only driven that point home. Still, he'd rather be lonely than have to go through the despair of loss all over again.

He remembers them all; all his dead – from the very first loss to the last. Freya (his Freya; the only girl he had ever really loved), killed by Arthur because of her curse;Balinor, his father, took an arrow meant for him; Lancelot, sacrificed to mend the tear in the veil between the worlds; Elyan, killed by an enchanted sword; Gwaine, tortured to death by Morgana; Morgana (poor, doomed Morgana… and he still believes that she was his greatest failure; still feels guilty for her fall into madness) killed by him with Excalibur; Arthur (best not go there… he always got a bit maudlin thinking of Arthur's death); Gaius, died of old age in his own bed while Merlin was a hundred leagues away; Percival, killed in a skirmish with the Saxons; Hunith, his beloved mother, died of a fever that he could have saved her from if he'd actually been there; Leon, died an old man in a riding accident; Gwen (his Queen; his friend), disappeared when Camelot finally fell to the Saxon invaders (while he had stood aside and done nothing; had been too wrapped up in his own affairs to even know it had happened). There had been others in later years too, from Berhtulf, the Saxon boy who had been fascinated by Merlin's magic (which he had seen by accident) and who had been killed in a Viking raid; to Catherine, the sister of Alexander (the boy he was supposed to be tutoring – although really his sister had been a far more diligent scholar), who had died of plague in the seventeenth century; to Jonathan the farm labourer he had met and bonded with in the trenches (and wasn't that supposed to be the war to end all wars?) who had disappeared into no man's land and whose body was never found.

There has been no-one that he has been friends with – no-one that he has been close to – since Jonathan and Merlin would very much like to keep it that way, thank you very much. His heart can only take so much and it has long since reached breaking point. There is no way he wants or needs a friend now (no matter how happy and free this afternoon had made him feel) when he knows that his own immortality makes the outcome inevitable; when he knows that any friend he makes will eventually die and he will have to go on alone once again.

He takes a long sip of his wine (not too bad in spite of the cheap price tag), book discarded and forgotten on the arm of the chair as his thoughts circle around and around in his head. He needs to let his curiosity about the magic he had felt this afternoon go. The longer he had spent talking to Jason the more he had found himself liking the young man and that is a dangerous thing. He cannot afford to get attached; to even think of making friends (he hasn't had a friend in over ninety years now and has at least half convinced himself that he really doesn't need that sort of interaction anymore). No, he mustn't get involved. No matter what he said at the beach earlier, he cannot – will not – see Jason again.

Decision made he drains his glass and settles down to read his book once more. In a way he is relieved. It is the logical choice – even if he does have to ignore the little voice inside him that tells him he's making a mistake; being a fool; and that he cannot carry on alone as he has been doing; that he will not be able to be the person that Arthur needs when he returns if he keeps himself isolated from the rest of the world. It will all be for the best he decides as he loses himself in the story he is reading.

---

By morning, though, his choice no longer seems so clear. His magic is pulling at him; trying to drive him on in a way that it hasn't for years. Lunchtime comes around and he finds that he has managed to get little work done all morning; can't seem to concentrate for some reason; keeps looking longingly out through the shop windows at the bright day. So just after lunch he tells Gaynor that he's taking the afternoon off and that he thinks he'll close the shop up early today (although he will still pay her for her time of course; won't penalise her just because he doesn't feel like working). Gaynor tells him not to be so daft; that she's perfectly capable of running the place for the afternoon and just to go and enjoy himself.

Merlin doesn't need telling twice. He races back upstairs, changes and is down and in his car as quickly as he can. Somehow it feels right to change into his younger form again, so he does and sets off with no clear destination in mind; simply allowing his magic to draw him onwards to wherever it seems to want to go.

It comes as no real surprise to find himself back at the beach again. This time he doesn't get out of the car though. His magic is still pulling at him, telling him that he has not yet reached his destination. So he sets off again, driving slowly through the back streets of this sleepy little coastal town until he reaches a point where his senses tell him to stop. It is a quiet residential road with bungalows from the 1970s on either side. Merlin frowns. Why has he been drawn here?

After a few minutes he has his answer. An elderly Land Rover, more suited to a farm than a residential street Merlin feels, pulls up and a burly, middle aged man with fading sandy hair, just beginning to thin at the temples, and a deeply lined face gets out of the driver's seat. He leans back into the car and says something, clearly speaking to a passenger. As Merlin watches Jason gets out of the passenger seat, frowning as he fiddles with some sort of mobile phone. The older man taps him on the shoulder and points towards the house with a laugh.

Merlin sits back for a moment once they have gone inside. Clearly he has been drawn here – is being drawn towards Jason – but he isn't sure why. Some fresh air might help him clear his head, he decides so he gets out of the car and locks it carefully (although the chances of someone wanting to pinch it are slim to non-existent). He looks around and on a whim decides to take a small marked footpath between two of the houses.

Before too long he finds himself deep in the countryside, tramping through green fields and along narrow lanes. It's very peaceful here and he breathes the fresh air and feels his troubles beginning to melt away. Somehow it's hard to believe that he's still fairly close to a town; to civilisation (although he has wondered for many years just how mankind can be called civilised with all the harm they do).

Gradually his magic starts tugging at him again though; it feels almost like a tickle somewhere deep in the back of his mind. He follows it until he is standing in a gateway, leaning over the gate. A smile creeps over his face as he stands there, waiting. He feels rather than sees someone come to join him and turns his head to look at his companion.

Jason is standing with his back to the gate, facing in the opposite direction to Merlin, looking back across the lane.

"You weren't kidding when you said I'd see you again," he says with amusement in his voice.

Merlin grins at him.

"I see you felt like running away again then," he remarks lightly.

Jason briefly makes a sour face.

"Permanently," he answers.

He keeps his tone light but somehow Merlin knows he's at least half serious.

"I got picked up by the police on the way home last night," Jason carries on. "They gave me a lift home in the end."

Merlin frowns in confusion.

"Why?" he asks.

Jason makes the sour face again. The expression really doesn't suit him.

"Mac… the man I live with… called them," he explains. "Apparently I can't be trusted out on my own anymore."

"You're out on your own now," Merlin says.

"Technically I'm with you," Jason points out with a slightly bitter laugh. "Although Mac doesn't know that." He sighs. "We had an argument about it last night. I ended up telling him that I wasn't a child, an invalid or a criminal and that he couldn't keep me locked up forever."

"Is Mac your father?" Merlin asks.

Jason huffs a laugh.

"Nah," he says. "He was my Dad's friend… I think… at least that's what I've been told. The doctors don't think I can live on my own at the moment so I live with him." He frowns as though he is uncertain why he's telling Merlin all this. "I know he just wants me to be safe but it's driving me up the wall," he adds.

"Will there be trouble about you being out now?" Merlin enquires. Not that he's entirely a stranger to trouble but he'd rather know in advance if it's going to be coming.

"Shouldn't think so," Jason responds wryly. "Yesterday I snuck out and left him a note. Today he knows I've gone. We talked after we argued last night and he ended up accepting that I needed some freedom. He bought me a phone this morning so that I can call if I get into trouble. Made sure I knew which number to speed dial to call home… and that I didn't immediately forget it."

They've set off walking down the lane, the town at their backs.

"Is that likely?" Merlin asks quizzically.

"It's possible," Jason admits a little reluctantly. "I don't always remember what people say to me or what I'm supposed to be doing." He hesitates for a moment. "He told me a little bit about the person I used to be. I think I might have liked him… I just wish I could remember him."

Merlin doesn't entirely know what to say to that so he makes a joke which is decidedly unfunny in the circumstances, but it still seems to amuse his companion and before either of them fully know what's happened they're laughing and joking as they walk along; enjoying friendly banter in a way that Merlin hasn't in a very long time; a companionship that he's been starved of for too many years (and suspects Jason has been craving too).

Over the next few weeks they fall into an easy routine (sometimes Merlin thinks it has been too easy and wonders suspiciously about the hand of fate in all this). Merlin doesn't see Jason every day of course, but usually he will find his magic drawing him back to that little seaside town two or three times a week. He is neglecting the shop woefully and thanks whatever gods may be listening for Gaynor, who keeps things running for him without a murmur; she might not know where he disappears to so often but she is happy to see him looking more relaxed and happy than she has known in the months she has worked for him.

Deep down Merlin knows that this friendship cannot last (he is at least honest enough to admit to himself that it is a friendship in spite of his best intentions; Jason has become his friend without even trying). Still, he cannot help but enjoy it; recognises now how lonely he had become and how much it was damaging him. He finds himself sharing things with his new friend that he would never have dreamed about sharing with another soul; tells himself that Jason's lack or prior knowledge of the Arthurian legends makes it safe to share edited versions of the stories (heavily edited so that it seems they have happened recently and removing any references to his magic).

Most of the time they end up walking through the countryside that surrounds the town where Jason lives or down at the beach where they first met. At first, Jason seems surprised to find Merlin waiting for him so often (even asks him about it once) but in time he comes to accept it as just one of those things that happens.

He learns that his brunette friend is uncomfortable with going into town; hates the sympathy he sees in the eyes of the people who meet him there. He rapidly learns that Jason hates to be coddled (which is just as well because Merlin certainly isn't about to start doing that) and has an independent streak almost as wide as Merlin's own. Merlin suspects that it was part of his friend's original personality before the accident which has robbed him of pretty much everything. It isn't hard for him to discover what happened to Jason (turns out to have been front page news – certainly in the local papers and even a couple of the nationals had a brief article), a quick online search tells him all he needs to know. He debates briefly telling Jason what he has learned but isn't sure that it would help right at this moment, especially given what his friend has told him about this Mac that he lives with. Merlin suspects that the man is being eaten alive with misplaced guilt and try though he might he cannot see a way to help (has enough guilt of his own to last several lifetimes).

Winter fades into spring without Merlin really noticing. He rediscovers a passion for conversation in himself that he thought he had been stripped of years ago. It helps that Jason reminds him a little of Lancelot, he decides. Although his new friend is clearly different to his old one, they share the same earnestness and (he believes) the same high ideals of friendship. Jason accepts all Merlin's foibles and eccentricities without question, and to Merlin that is a precious thing indeed. He begins to wonder if his new friend would accept his magic the way that Lancelot did and more than once comes close to revealing it. In the end though the age old fear (born in the days of repression at Camelot and sharpened by the witch trials of the Middle Ages) stays his hand.

As the weather warms, they both take to removing jackets and jumpers as they walk. Jason has a scar on his upper arm that catches Merlin's attention because he would almost swear that it looks like the remains of an arrow wound (he's seen enough wounds and scars in his life to be able to identify what made them). The problem is that that seems almost ridiculously unlikely (who uses a bow and arrow in this day and age?) and asking Jason where it came from proves futile – his lack of prior memories means that he simply doesn't know. It's one more question – one more puzzle – in a whole long list that Merlin feels surrounds his friend. He finds himself wondering if there are other scars that he has not seen that would give him some clues about where Jason has come from; about the mystery and the magic that still surround him.

"Coffee?"

They have walked farther that usual today, lost track of time and distance and ended up in a village some two or three miles away. The village has little in the way of amenities but is does have a tearoom – which is just as well since a rain shower has caught them out and sent them indoors to wait it out.

Jason pulls a face.

"Can't," he says. "I'm not allowed too much caffeine… the meds, you know?"

Merlin nods seriously because actually he does know. It's fairly obvious to anyone with eyes that Jason is a lot healthier than he was the first day that Merlin met him (he no longer looks overly pale and has far more stamina than he did on their first walks; has regained a fair amount of fitness even if he is still far too thin) but his friend knows that Jason still has a few underlying problems that he doesn't like to talk about too much. There's obviously the amnesia itself of course, although most of the time Merlin wouldn't even know it was there (he supposes that in some ways it's an advantage that he didn't know Jason before his accident – he has no real preconceived ideas about his friend) – it's only really noticeable when Jason forgets what he's supposed to be doing or something he's just been told. Fairly early on in their friendship Jason told him that both his long term and short term memories had been affected (Merlin had found out through Googling it that the technical terms were retrograde and anterograde amnesia); that everything before the accident was completely gone and that he had mild impairment that affected his recent memory.

The other (sometimes more obvious) problem is that Jason frequently suffers from severe migraines. As far as Merlin knows (as far as he has gathered from Jason himself) this is what he's on medication for – not that it seems to work too well to be honest. The only good thing is that they seem to be coming less frequently lately than they were so perhaps it is simply a matter of time.

"What do you fancy then?" he asks. "My treat," he adds.

"Just a cup of tea please," Jason answers with a smile.

Merlin nods and goes up to the counter to order. When the order comes there is a mug of coffee for him and a tea for Jason (as he asked for) and two slices of Victoria sponge. Jason looks at his slice and raises an eyebrow.

"Honestly you're getting as bad as Mac," he says, half joking. "He's always on at me to eat more."

Merlin grins.

"I was always telling Arthur he was getting fat," he says, reminiscing. "I even put an extra couple of holes in his belt once or twice."

"How did he take that?" Jason asks, returning Merlin's grin.

"Not well," Merlin answers with a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I had him going with that one for weeks." He looks at Jason and grows serious again. "You could do with a bit of his excess weight," he says. "Not that Arthur was ever fat but he did put on a few pounds every so often… too much good food."

Jason rolls his eyes.

"This coming from Mr Skinny himself?" he asks. "Is that the pot calling the kettle black?" His grin broadens as he speaks though, to let his black haired friend know he's only teasing.

Merlin chuckles. He knows that Jason has had to relearn all the common idioms and phrases that people use every day and is always ridiculously pleased with himself when he gets one right.

---

The weeks pass (as weeks do) and Merlin finds himself spending more and more time away from the shop and more and more time rediscovering who he used to be in the presence of his new friend (is he still a 'new' friend when they've known each other for over three months?). He tells Jason about Arthur – little stories about the man who he still regards as the other half of his soul (and relishes the fact that Jason takes the micky out of him when he voices that – teases him for attempting to be poetic – because that sort of banter was something he hadn't even realised he missed until it was returned to him) and about his other friends from the old days.

In return Jason (somewhat hesitantly at first; clearly expecting that he won't be believed) tells Merlin about the strange city that he often dreams about and about the friends he has in those dreams; about the older, fat man with thinning hair and a penchant for drinking and gambling; about the gangly, blue eyed young man with reddish blonde curls who seems so important to Jason. Jason is convinced that these people and places are real (although even he cannot imagine how it might be possible); knows in his heart that these are real memories (and is endlessly frustrated that he cannot seem to put names to any of it; cannot remember the name of the skinny young man). He is so adamant that Merlin cannot disbelieve him and, even if he didn't outright believe him, his magic tells him that Jason is speaking the truth (one of the advantages of his long life is that his magic is now finely honed and tuned and can easily pick up on outright lies).

It's a puzzle that intrigues Merlin (another one) because it seems obvious to him that Jason is dreaming about another time and place far distant from Dorset in the 21st Century and yet he cannot see how that might be. If he believed in reincarnation, he might think it was that (had wondered in the early days of their friendship whether Jason was Lancelot reborn in the modern era – although he rapidly came to discount the theory; although they share similarities Jason is too different to have been Lancelot before) but in all the years he has been alive he has never really seen anyone reincarnated. Oh he has met plenty of people who have believed they have been but cannot quite accept for himself that it is true (because if it were then surely some of his friends would have found their way back to him by now).

So what does that leave? He thinks about it late at night, lying in his bed, and comes to the conclusion that Jason is like him – somehow stuck in a time that isn't his own. It still seems impossible because it is clear that everyone around Jason has known him since childhood, and yet Merlin is convinced that it is true.

He tries to reassure his friend as much as he can that he at least believes Jason is telling the truth. Apparently his brunette friend has been told by both the doctors and Mac alike that the dreams are false memories; that his damaged brain is creating them in an attempt to remember something.

The day before Jason's latest hospital appointment he is in a foul mood. Merlin supposes he can understand it. It's a mixture of frustration and nerves. He knows that Jason desperately wants to break free; to begin to live his life again (even if it is a different life from the one he had before the accident) and is growing increasingly upset at the fact that he isn't really being allowed to – is being tied to a life he can no longer remember.

The problem is that he can also understand Mac's desire to wrap Jason up in cotton wool too (even if he has never personally met the man everything Jason has said about him tells Merlin that Mac cares deeply for Jason); to treat him like fragile glass.

"He has no faith in me," Jason admits quietly.

He's burned through a lot of his anger by this point and is sitting back down next to Merlin on the shingle (Jason has an affinity for the beach – for the sea – and so this is the place they tend to come to when he's upset or overly frustrated; coming back to the point where they first met). They've already talked about the way that the people around him make Jason feel and about his upcoming neurology appointment, and Merlin has told Jason a little about Lancelot and a little more about Arthur (about what an idiot Arthur can be; about how noble and brave he is; about how much Merlin misses him). Now they have returned to the subject of Mac and his somewhat overbearing attempts at protection.

"I told him I wanted to start looking for a job and to move out," Jason adds with a sigh.

"How did he take that?" Merlin asks.

Jason snorts.

"How do you think?" he growls. "You're not ready for that sunshine. You wouldn't cope. With your memory it wouldn't be safe. You'd leave the gas on and blow the house up." His voice changes, becoming a vicious parody of a man that Merlin only knows through Jason; apparently mimicking Mac's tone and phraseology. "I'm not that stupid," he adds bitterly. "I know how to set the alarm on my phone to remind me to do stuff."

"He cares about you," Merlin points out.

"I know that," Jason snaps. He looks at Merlin and grimaces. "Sorry," he says more gently. "I don't mean to take this out on you. It's just that he's suffocating me. I feel like I can't breathe anymore."

Merlin sighs because he doesn't know how to answer that. No matter how long he has lived the one thing that is still hard to understand is the human heart.

He doesn't see Jason the next day (doesn't expect to knowing that his friend will be spending the best part of the day at the hospital for his appointment). It's not a bad day really; the shop has been doing well recently and an early start to the tourist season (early days yet but it will build throughout the spring and into the summer) has brought extra customers in through the doors. Merlin knows he's been neglecting the business lately but for the first time in years he's really enjoying himself; enjoying the company of another person.

After lunch Gaynor pulls him to one side and tactfully suggests that they need some new stock and, for all she's pleased to see him happy (can't seem to stop mothering him), he really needs to get off his backside and get on with some work (actually she's not all that tactful but she means well). She's spotted an auction down in Exeter tomorrow that looks good and he'd only have to be away for a night or two (one day for the sale and another to arrange to transport anything large he purchased back to the shop, sort out the auctioneer's commission and the receipts and everything). Merlin agrees because, actually, he feels a bit guilty about how much he's been leaving to Gaynor lately.

So in the end it's three days before he sees Jason again. It would be longer but his magic draws him to the coastal town inexorably on the third day. He can't feel his friend out and about though and suspects that he stress of the neurology appointment will have triggered a migraine, so he heads for the house. On a whim he stops into a little Co-Op that he passes and picks up a punnet of purple grapes. Jason mentioned a dream (or memory, Merlin suspects) where he and the skinny blonde were eating purple grapes and the warlock knows that they therefore have some sort of significance to his friend.

The look on Jason's face when he answers the door is priceless – clearly he was expecting it to be a cold caller or something like that and is more than startled to see his friend on the other side. Merlin can't help grinning (and supressing a laugh) at the sight. He was right, he thinks, that Jason is probably in the aftermath of a migraine – he is still somewhat pale and looks a little groggy.

"So?" Merlin asks. "What did they say?"

"Who?" Jason responds.

They are lying stretched out on the carpet, the punnet of grapes between them, engaged in lazy conversation.

"The hospital," Merlin answers, rolling his eyes.

Jason pulls a sour face.

"Nothing much," he answers. "Apparently my brain is still healing so my short term memory might get a bit better – they seem to think it's got a bit better from what it was already – but they're pretty sure that anything from before the accident is gone forever."

"Are you alright with that?" Merlin asks. He knows just how frustrated Jason is that he just can't remember.

Jason shrugs.

"I think so," he says. "I was sort of expecting it anyway. Mac took it harder than I did. I think he'd still hoped that maybe they'd say I'd get completely better one day. I don't think he wants to accept that this is who I am now."

Merlin looks at him thoughtfully but doesn't say anything. He changes the subject and soon the conversation has moved on to lighter, happier topics. It is all too easy to lose track of time as they chat and joke playfully back and forth; never broaching any serious topics. Then the front door opens and they both look up in surprise. The older, sandy haired man who Merlin had seen getting out of the Land Rover on the driveway months ago now struggles in with both hands full of shopping. He stares at them both for a moment, his eyes hardening as he sees Merlin; becoming suspicious and hostile. Somehow Merlin isn't surprised by that although he is saddened to see it. This, he knows, is Mac and he also knows just how protective of Jason the man is going to be.

"Who's this?" Mac asks, his voice and his eyes cold.

"This is a friend of mine," Jason answers.

Mac pushes past Jason before he can say another word and advances on Merlin in what can only be described as an aggressive manner. It's clear to Merlin in this moment that Jason has never mentioned him to Mac and he wonders why.

"A friend?" Mac barks with an incredulous note in his voice. He rounds on Merlin. "What do you want? Are you from the papers? Is that it? Come to do a nice little follow up to all that tripe you published before?"

"I'm not a reporter," Merlin answers calmly. "I sell antiques."

"Mac…" Jason begins, clearly shocked by the level of hostility Mac is displaying.

"You stay out of this," Mac growls at him and turned back to Merlin again. "Is it you who's been filling his head with all this nonsense about moving out? Telling him he can cope on his own? What sort of sick game are you playing? Pretending to make friends with him and then setting him up to fail, is that it? Is that how you get your kicks? I'm telling you right now I'm not about to let you hurt him."

"I'm not going to hurt Jason," Merlin says. "He's my friend."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mac answers. "How could you really be friends with someone who…" he breaks off suddenly, unexpectedly.

"Is damaged goods," Jason finishes for him, his voice numb.

"Jason," Mac begins gently – as though he were talking to a wounded animal, "I know this might not make sense but I'm only trying to look out for you; to protect you. You're not going to be the best judge of character these days. People could take advantage of you too easily and I'm not about to let that happen."

"I have amnesia, I'm not stupid," Jason snaps.

"And I'm not saying you are," Mac says softly. "But you do have brain damage and nothing's going to alter that."

"But only my memory is affected," Jason hisses. "That's what they said the other day. That everything else is intact."

"I know that sunshine, but the truth is that you're not yourself anymore and someone needs to protect you." Mac glares at Merlin. "So what is it that you want from him?"

"Nothing," Merlin answers. "I'm not the one trying to control Jason after all."

"It's for his own good," Mac insists.

"And you think you should be the person who gets to decide what Jason does?" Merlin asks, his voice growing as cold as winter and his eyes burning with an age old fire. "To decide who he should be friends with or what he should think? That isn't caring for someone; that's imprisoning them." He understands that Mac only wants to protect Jason; that he both cares for the young man and feels guilty about what happened. But this really isn't the way to go about things. Injustice has always made him angry and Mac's attitude and hang-ups are most definitely not fair on Jason.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Mac all but screams.

"I'm Jason's friend," Merlin answers. "I don't want to tell him what to do with his life because actually I think he's probably the best person to decide what's right for him… and if you weren't so set on trying to make yourself feel less guilty you'd probably see that too." He looks at Jason and gives a wry half smile. "I should probably go," he says. "I'll see you soon."

He's angry as he leaves the house – oh so angry. Part of him understands Mac's desire to look after Jason but he hates the fact that the man is so blinkered in his outlook; that he can only acknowledge his own position and cannot comprehend that anyone else could possibly care; that he believes that he is always right and isn't willing to allow Jason the freedom he so clearly wants and needs.

He's still angry by the time he reaches the shop (just before closing time) and lets himself in through the door at the back – so distracted in fact that he forgets he's still wearing his young face; that he hasn't changed back to the middle-aged version of himself that lives here and runs the business.

"Who are you and how did you get back here?"

It's Gaynor's question that makes him realise what form he is currently in. Merlin opens his mouth to answer but finds himself at a loss for an explanation; scrambling mentally for a story.

"You've got one minute to answer me or I'm calling the police," Gaynor threatens, her hand already on the phone.

"Erm… I'm Steve," he says, making up the name on the spur of the moment. "Mike Ambrose is my uncle. I'm here to visit for a few days."

It feels a little strange to be claiming to be his own nephew but it isn't as if he hasn't had to do it before.

"You do look a bit like him," Gaynor says, still sounding a bit suspicious. "But that doesn't explain why he never told me about you or that you were coming today… Or what you're doing here when I know Mike's gone out for the afternoon."

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Merlin answers quickly. "I didn't actually let him know I was coming until earlier. He's just picked me up from the train station."

"Where are your bags then?" Gaynor asks, mistrustfully.

"Sorry?"

"If you're his nephew and you've come to stay, where are your bags?"

"Erm… Uncle Mike took them upstairs," Merlin answers quickly. "He's gone on up ahead of me. Said something about ordering a takeaway for later for us." He hesitates for a moment. "Did you want me to go and get him so that you can check?" he asks.

Gaynor nods slowly.

"Alright, but you just remember that I can still call the police," she warns.

Merlin races up the stairs wondering how, even after all these years, he manages to get himself into these things. At the top he throws off his jacket and t-shirt (thank God that Gaynor didn't look closely enough to recognise them!) and grabs a button down shirt, pulling it on over his head even as he changes himself into the form that his colleague is familiar with. Running a hand through his hair, he has a quick check of himself in the mirror and purposefully makes his way back downstairs.

Gaynor looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Is everything alright?" she asks.

"Of course," Merlin answers. "I guess you met my nephew Steve."

"Hmm," Gaynor responds. "He really is your nephew then? You never told me he'd be coming to stay."

"I didn't know it myself," Merlin replies. "He rang me from the train. You know what young men are like. He's a bit of a handful that one."

Gaynor laughs and tells him she knows exactly what he means. She has a son herself and he was once the same age as Merlin's "nephew". Merlin can't help feeling guilty for lying to her though; it isn't something he's ever liked doing to people he cares about.

In the days that follow the shop is unexpectedly busy and he finds himself too occupied to get away (especially since he now has to change into his younger self from time to time to maintain the illusion that his nephew is staying with him). The days slip by more quickly than he thinks and he realises one day that it's been over a week since the scene in Mac's house. Merlin grimaces at the realisation, hoping that Jason doesn't think Mac has managed to chase him away. Tomorrow, he promises himself. Tomorrow he'll go and see his friend.

But when tomorrow comes it brings with it the shocking news that Gaynor has had a heart-attack in the night. The message is delivered via her son over the telephone early in the morning. Apparently the heart-attack is a serious one and things are touch and go. For the first time in many years, Merlin finds himself completely lost; not knowing what to do for the best. He keeps the shop running (has to maintain appearances) at least in part because he doesn't want Gaynor to worry about her job if she recovers. At the moment it's not entirely clear whether she will ever be able to return but Merlin wants to make sure that if she does want her job back it will be here waiting for her.

One week slips into two before things settle down enough to let him take an afternoon off from the shop; closing up early and heading off to the coast. His magic has been tugging at him for a few days now and it has finally got to the point where he can't ignore it anymore. Still, with the influx of customers that the tourist season is bringing, Merlin can't see himself being able to get away again for a while and he wants to let his friend know that; doesn't want Jason to feel as though he's abandoned him.

The day is bright and full of the promise of the summer that is to come. He walks down lanes that have become all too familiar over the last few months, letting his magic guide him to the place where he knows he will meet Jason, and stops to lean over a gate. After a while a familiar figure approaches and joins him, dark curls blowing slightly in the faint breeze.

"I thought you'd given up on me," Jason says as he draws level with the gate and it is clear from his tone that he is only half joking.

Merlin gives him a bright smile.

"I've been busy," he answers. "Sorry." He could tell Jason the reasons but through all their conversations somehow the subject of what he does for a living has never come up and he doesn't feel like having to go into detail now, wanting to spend what time he has this afternoon pleasantly.

Jason immediately looks guilty, which isn't what Merlin wanted at all.

"They think I'm depressed," he blurts as they begin to walk. "Mac and the doctors I mean."

Merlin looks at him appraisingly.

"You're not depressed," he says firmly. "You're just a long way from home and you need to find your way back."

He knows he probably sounds mysterious and that his friend doesn't know what he means, but he feels more strongly than ever that Jason is somehow out of his own time (however impossible that might seem); that he comes from a different time and place and won't really be whole until he can go back to where he belongs – if he can ever go back to where he belongs. Perhaps he is actually like Merlin – lost and a long way from where he comes from with no way of ever getting back. They're both damaged creatures in their own ways. Both battered and scarred inside – it's just that Jason wears it more noticeably than Merlin.

They reach the beach and sit down on the shingle, comfortable in each other's company.

"Listen I'm sorry for what happened when you came to the house," Jason says presently. "I don't know what got into Mac. He's not usually like that."

Merlin smiles.

"Did I ever tell you about Arthur's father?" he asks. "He was a really nasty man. Bigoted, arrogant, superior and cruel… always believed he was right no matter what… but he loved Arthur… would have done anything to protect him." It feels strange to be talking about Uther after all these years – he's the one part of Camelot that Merlin tries very hard to forget.

"Mac's not like that," Jason frowns. "He's not a bad guy really… he just worries I guess."

"I didn't mean that he was unpleasant in the way Arthur's father was," Merlin clarifies, "but he does have the same protective attitude… and he does always think he's right."

"I suppose," Jason says. "He's worse than ever at the moment. Wanting to know where I am and what I'm doing every minute of the day. I don't always think he likes me though," he adds. "When he smiles it never reaches his eyes."

"He's grieving," Merlin responds, "and he feels guilty for it because you're still here but…"

"I'm not the Jason that he knew and liked."

"No," Merlin agrees. "You're not."

"Why did you really come over to me the first day we met?" Jason asks after a moment. It's clearly something that's been on his mind for some time but he never dared to ask.

"Because I felt something about you that I hadn't felt for a very long time," Merlin answers with a peculiar look in his blue eyes. "You don't belong here and I could feel it."

Jason frowns at him, apparently unsure what to say. Before he can speak Merlin presses on.

"Do you remember when we met I asked you whether or not you believed in magic?"

"Yeah," Jason answers, frowning. "I said I didn't know."

"And now? Do you believe in magic now?"

It's suddenly desperately important to Merlin to know whether Jason can accept everything he is; to know whether this friend he has made will react in the way he hopes. He is about to take a risk that he hasn't taken in centuries, about to reveal his magic to another living person, and to know whether the risk he has taken is worth it. Part of him wonders why he is choosing to do this now but his magic is guiding him, wanting to be free, drawing him on as it wants.

"I still don't know," Jason replies.

Merlin smiles that strange half smile that he gives sometimes. Then he mutters some words in the old tongue and his eyes flash gold as he releases his magic. A finger of flame begins to dance on his outstretched palm. Jason swears and scrambles backwards, wide eyed.

"What about now?" Merlin asks with little humour in his voice. "Do you believe in magic now?"

Jason creeps back forwards curiously and stretches out one hand to touch the fire on his friend's palm. Merlin closes his hand quickly, killing the flame before Jason can touch it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?" he admonishes.

"Not that I remember," Jason answers with a smirk. "Seriously though, what was that? It was amazing." He is clearly fascinated by his friend's abilities.

"It was magic," Merlin answers, grinning openly now.

"How did you do it?"

"I was born with it." Merlin looks appraisingly at Jason, judging his mood and his reaction. It is a better reaction than he could have imagined – complete and wholehearted acceptance. It is much like the reaction that Lancelot had and Merlin once again finds himself comparing Jason with his old friend. It also makes him a little sad because he wishes (oh how he wishes) that Arthur's initial reaction had been the same sort of wondering acceptance. Yes, Arthur had come to terms with it in the end but in those last few days he had rejected Merlin when he had first learned his secret – and even after all these years it still hurts.

"Magic is all around us," he says. "It's part of the earth; part of nature; in the air we breathe. So few people know of it these days; so few people want to know. When I saw you on the beach I got a feeling that I haven't had in a very long time; the feeling that I was in the presence of very old magic. It flows through you; comes off you in waves. I haven't sensed anyone with so much raw power in a very long time… but it's dormant power… not something you can consciously access. At least not in this lifetime."

"In this lifetime?" Jason asks.

"The magic I feel in you comes from a different time; a different world," Merlin answers slowly. "As though you come from a different time." He shakes his head thoughtfully. "It cannot be true and yet…" He shakes himself again. "Would you like to see some more?" he asks.

Jason smiles.

"Yeah," he says.

Merlin hesitates for a moment.

"This is probably the last time I'll be able to meet you here for a while," he admits regretfully, knowing that his time will be taken up now that Gaynor is not there to look after the shop. Besides which he is supposed to be the guardian of Avalon; to watch and wait for Arthur; to prepare things for his eventual return. And although he pretty much has everything in readiness and under control (as far as he knows), he still needs to keep an eye on things and lately he has been letting that slide. "There are things I have to do. Things I've been neglecting." He smiles. "You have been too fascinating a puzzle for me to ignore but now I must get back to my duties."

"I am sorry," Jason answers apologetically.

"Don't be," Merlin answers. "I have thoroughly enjoyed our time… it's been a long time since I have allowed myself to become friends with another person… since I have indulged myself in this way."

He smiles again and settles down to enjoy the afternoon, preparing to show Jason the lighter side of his abilities. It is light and fun. It is also the last time that they see each other for quite some time.

---

It's turning into a good summer this year. Bright and warm and busy. Before Merlin knows it four months have slipped by. Gaynor is getting better slowly but it seems unlikely that she will be able to return to work any time soon (Merlin privately suspects that she really ought to give in and retire completely but he can't see her being willing to do that).

In June he shuts up the shop for a fortnight, cancels his morning papers and tells everyone he's going on holiday. He knows some of the other local shopkeepers think he's mad because with the number of tourists around he could well be losing out on business, but making money has never been Merlin's primary concern.

A change is coming. He can feel it in the air; taste it on the back of his tongue. It's like nothing he's ever felt and he suspects it is heralding the fact that Arthur will soon return. He haunts the landscape around Glastonbury – around Avalon – for the best part of the first week, but for now nothing appears to be different. Arthur is coming, he is sure of it – but it appears that the prat intends to make him wait for just a little longer. That doesn't matter to Merlin though – as long as he knows it will be happening sometime in the next hundred years or so (and so far all the signs are pointing towards that being true) he is happy.

"Merlin." The voice that calls to him is light and ethereal.

He is walking through the countryside when he hears the voice. Unsure of who is calling him, he follows the sound down to a small stream.

"I'm here," he answers softly.

"We've been waiting for you Merlin," the voice replies.

Merlin smiles, fairly certain what he is dealing with now and knowing that it poses no threat.

"All you had to do is call," he says.

A series of bubbles float up from the stream ahead of him. There are women's faces in the bubbles.

"You know who we are then?" one of the bubbles asks him.

"You are Vilia," Merlin answers. "Spirits of the brooks and streams." He looks at them quizzically. "I didn't think you could move around freely in the mortal world while the veil between the worlds is intact though." He hesitates, his eyes narrowing as a little uncertainty creeps in. "It hasn't been torn though, has it? Otherwise there would be Dorocha everywhere."

"No," the Vilia answers. "The veil is intact… but a time of great change is coming."

Merlin smiles again.

"Then I'm right," he says. "Arthur is coming back."

"The Once and Future King will return soon enough," the Vilia replies. "The time is nearly upon us. Your years of waiting will be over soon… but the time is not quite yet."

"Then why did you call to me now?" Merlin asks.

"Because there is another who will need your help soon," the Vilia says. "The time has come for him to return to his home… and only you can help him."

Merlin nods. Somehow he doesn't need to be told who the person who needs his help is; part of him has sensed it from their first meeting on the beach.

It doesn't take him long to get back to the sleepy seaside town where he first met Jason, but when he gets there he finds the bungalow apparently unoccupied. A helpful (albeit suspicious) neighbour informs him that Mac has gone back to work; has gone back to sea (and Merlin realises that he never actually asked Jason what the man did for a living). An enquiry to the same neighbour tells him that Jason left three months ago and no she doesn't know where he is living now thank you very much and certainly wouldn't tell a stranger even if she did know. Merlin thanks her and goes on his way.

For a little while he sits in his car, allowing his magic to flow through him and point him in the right direction. That's how he ends up in a tiny village some thirty miles or so down the coast the next morning, pulling up outside a ramshackle little cottage on the cliffs. He gets out of the metro (still going strong even if it is still a pig to start at times) and walks around the outside of the building, looking at the tiny house his friend has decided to call home. There is something about the place that sets Merlin's senses on high alert; a pull from the cliffs (or perhaps more accurately the beach below) that he feels the need to investigate.

Jason doesn't seem to be home, despite the fact that it's still fairly early on a Saturday, and for a moment Merlin wonders what to do, before deciding to wait and see if his friend is going to turn up soon.

In the end he's not actually waiting all that long at all. He's leaning over the gate looking out over the cliff top when Jason comes into view cycling along the cliff path. He looks healthier than Merlin has ever seen him; relaxed and happy (and if he still looks like he could stand to gain a little weight then surely that will come). Merlin can't help the bright grin that comes over his face at the sight of his friend (seen for the first time in months). Jason catches sight of him and almost hurls himself off the bike, discarding it where it falls and racing up to the now laughing Merlin.

"I wasn't sure I'd see you again. Thought you might have decided you'd had enough of me," Jason says breathlessly, grinning brightly, dimples flashing.

"Nah," Merlin answers. "I've been busy. There's been something in the air for a while now. I think that Arthur's going to be coming back soon."

He's happier than he's been in centuries at the moment and wants to share it with someone.

"How did you find me?" Jason asks.

Merlin gives him an incredulous and amused look and Jason flushes with embarrassment

"Of course," he murmurs. "Magic."

Merlin grins at him again and goes to turn towards the house. Then at the last minute he stops and looks at Jason with a bemused frown, reaching out with long slender fingers to touch the crescent necklace glinting at Jason's throat.

"This is new," he says softly, still staring at the necklace with intense concentration.

"Actually it's old," Jason answers. "I found it at the back of a bookcase in Mac's house. I'd seen photos of me wearing it so I know it was mine before." He doesn't need to say before what – Merlin already knows. "Since I've got it back now I didn't see any harm in wearing it… nearly gave Mac a heart attack the first time he saw me with it on."

"Hmm," Merlin murmurs absently.

"What is it?" Jason frowns.

His black haired friend hesitates for a moment.

"It has an energy," he says quietly. "Old magic. I get the same feeling from it that I get from you." He shakes himself and grins at Jason, looking like no more than a gangly boy again. "Are you going to show me this house then?"

Merlin stays with him for a week. It's a bit cramped and there's only actually the one bed but they take it in turns sleeping on the sofa – which plays havoc with Merlin's back but he doesn't say anything; doesn't want to embarrass his friend. Jason introduces him to Miss Kelly, the lady that runs the bookshop where the brunette has started working. She takes to Merlin instantly but tuts at how skinny he is and pushes cakes and pastries on him every chance she gets. Merlin is ridiculously happy for his friend; happy that Jason was finally able to break away and find a place of his own.

Jason hasn't bothered to get a TV yet but Merlin doesn't really mind (there's never anything worthwhile on anyway) and their evenings are spent walking along the cliffs or hanging about the living room and chatting. The early summer weather is warm and the evenings balmy, and everything is relaxed and comfortable.

On Saturday, exactly a week after Merlin's arrival, they wander down to the sheltered cove at the base of the cliffs. The path is more than a little steep in places and whilst the evenings are fine neither of them has wanted to risk having to climb back up that path in the fading light. It is Merlin's suggestion that they go – he has been itching to see the cove all week (his magic has been humming every time he has looked at the cliff path) – and they wander down the cliff path chatting lightly about this and that.

At the bottom Merlin stops and turns in a slow circle, arms outstretched, revelling in the feeling of power that the cove gives him. There is something here; something important is about to happen and he knows that this is what he is here for. Jason, on the other hand, looks decidedly uncomfortable, rolling his shoulders awkwardly as though something is disturbing him.

Merlin turns to look at him shrewdly.

"You can feel it can't you?

"What?" Jason asks.

"The power," Merlin answers calmly. "The magic."

"I don't…" Jason breaks off uneasily.

Merlin grabs his arm and spins him until they're facing.

"Why did you move here?" he asks.

"I was offered a job and somewhere to live," Jason answers.

"There has to be more to it than that," Merlin retorts. "Why here? Why now?"

"It was stupid," Jason says slowly. "The first time I saw the cottage it just felt right… like I needed to be here."

"You were drawn here," Merlin murmurs thoughtfully. Then he seems to shake himself and grins brightly at Jason. "Come on I'll race you," he says taking off at a run.

He gets a decent head start before Jason realises what's happened. Before long though he can feel his companion drawing level, feet pounding along the beach as he runs, and then Jason is overtaking him. Merlin was always fast but it appears that his friend is even faster – which in itself is a bit of a surprise. As they run, Merlin can feel the cave he can just make out in the cliff face calling to him. It's there that he needs to go then. It appears that Jason can feel it too because he half stumbles and looks uneasily at the cliff face with wide, anxious eyes. Merlin would stop to reassure him but the power coming from the cave is drawing him onwards; the feeling is almost intoxicating.

"Are you coming?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" Jason asks, his voice higher pitched than usual – a sign that he is nervous.

"In there," Merlin nods towards the cave before heading off purposefully.

Jason swallows hard but follows him anyway.

"What is this place?" he asks, his voice hushed, as they step in through the entrance.

"This is the centre of the power we were both feeling; the heart of the magic," Merlin answers. "It's old; older than I am… and that's saying something."

Jason looks at him curiously.

Merlin steps forwards and rests one hand against the rock of the far wall.

"Ah," he says. "I understand now."

He turns back to Jason and his eyes are sad even though he attempts to smile, knowing that he is about to lose the only friend he has in this time and place; knowing that Jason is about to go home even if he doesn't know it himself.

"You understand what?"

"I understand what was different about you from the moment I met you… why the magic that runs through you feels so old." Merlin sighs. "You don't belong here," he adds, "and I think you're being called home."

"Of course I belong here," Jason answers sharply. "I might not be able to remember it but I've seen the pictures from before. I had an accident that's all… I don't understand what you're going on about."

Merlin doesn't answer him. Still caressing the rock, he mutters some words the old tongue, eyes flashing golden. Then the entire wall starts to glow and pulsate, lit from inside with a golden light. To Merlin the feeling is amazing. It feels a little like the Crystal Cave used to (although he hasn't been there in centuries – thinks it might actually be buried under the A38 now).

The light comes from deep within the rock, growing brighter and brighter and swirling until it coalesces and something begins to appear deep within the heart of it. It is a city – set on a hill and bathed in sunlight. There are people moving, heading in through a set of great gates and at this distance they appear to be no larger than ants. Jason frowns and draws closer, eyes fixed on the image in front of him.

He gasps aloud and nearly falls, swaying drunkenly on his feet until Merlin grabs his arm and steadies him.

"Atlantis," he breathes.

"Do you know I'd never have picked Ancient Greece as being where you're from," Merlin says conversationally. "It fits though… it definitely fits."

"My father brought me through the gateway between the worlds when I was a baby," Jason says, unable to draw his eyes away from the gateway in the wall. "When the sub went down I ended up back there. I'm not sure how I ended up back here though," he looks sharply at Merlin. "Is it real? It's not just a dream?"

"It's as real as you or I," Merlin answers calmly, his voice reassuring. "I might be wrong but I think coming back here was an accident – a mistake – and I think that whatever drew you through the gateway in the first place wants you to go home now; to go back where you belong."

Jason nods slowly.

"You really are that Merlin aren't you?"

"Now you recognise my name," Merlin complains humorously.

Jason snorts a laugh.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"Actually it was nice not having someone react to my name," Merlin answers. "After a few hundred years I got sick of hearing variations on 'your parents named you for the wizard then?' and 'go on show me a magic trick'." He pauses, eyes growing serious. "You should go," he says, "although I do have to warn you that I don't think you'll be allowed to come back a second time."

"That's alright," Jason answers. "There's more for me there anyway." He looks longingly at the scene in front of him.

"Your friends," Merlin states. His voice is a little melancholy as he remembers all the years he has spent alone.

"My family," Jason corrects softly. "Pythagoras and Hercules." He hesitates. "You could come with me," he offers.

Merlin smiles his bright grin.

"Thanks but I'd probably better wait for the prat to put in an appearance," he answers. "You know… destiny and all that."

"Arthur. Of course," Jason answers. "I hope he doesn't keep you waiting too long."

"Oh he probably will," Merlin answers with amusement. "He always did like to make my life difficult."

"We're not going to see each other again are we?" Jason says.

"No," Merlin answers. "I think we both have destinies to fulfil in very different eras."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Jason grasps Merlin tightly around the shoulders, putting everything he feels right now into that hug. Merlin hugs him right back and they stay transfixed like that for a moment before the black haired boy pulls away with a smile.

"Go on," he urges. "I'm not sure how long the gateway will stay open and you've got people waiting for you. I'll take care of everything here… I've got used to that over the centuries."

Jason nods and grabs his shoulder once more. Then he turns, sets himself and steps through the portal.

Merlin watches him step through and then the gateway closes; the cave wall becoming no more than rock once more. He is happy for Jason (even if that happiness is a little bittersweet) knowing that his friend is back where he belongs; knowing that everything he had lost has been restored to him. Yet there is sorrow mixed in with the happiness too, knowing that once again he has been left alone to wait for Arthur; knowing that there is now yet another scar on his already battered heart.

He closes his eyes and leans against the wall for a moment, feeling old once more. Then he rallies. He promised Jason he would take care of everything and that is what he must do. There will be the house and Jason's job to sort out, and Mac will need to be dealt with. Merlin isn't sure the man will be able to take Jason's disappearance on top of everything that has already happened. He narrows his eyes, considering matters as he begins to make his way out of the cave.

There are spells and potions that can make people forget things of course and perhaps as far as Miss Kelly and her cousin (who Merlin had learned in the week he has been here is Jason's landlord) that is probably the best way to go; to simply remove the other young man from their memories. Fortunately, Jason hasn't been in the village for long enough to set down any real roots or get to know many people so it will be simple enough to remove him from their minds. They might remember a young man with dark hair passing through but that will be as far as it goes.

Mac is another matter, however. Merlin feels sorry for the man and doesn't want to cause him too much additional pain if it is at all possible. He sighs. A general spell over the area where he lives and over Mac in particular should suffice, he decides. He will not remove Jason from their minds completely; he cannot bring himself to do that, to allow his friend to be forgotten altogether. Besides which Jason has been part of Mac's life for so long and is so deeply ingrained that he doesn't think removing him would work anyway. No, he will simply arrange to alter their memories (and alter the official records) to say that Jason was never rescued from the accident he had; to say that he died all those months ago. Mac will grieve (of course he will) but he will eventually move on and it will be easier on him to lose Jason once rather than twice.

Out on the beach Merlin pauses and gazes out across the waves.

"Good luck my friend," he says softly to the air.

He turns and makes his lonely way up the beach. There is work to be done once more.